Sea Shanties

After seeing the recreations of the Nina Pinta and Santa Maria I also don't know how they did it. No way I would set into uncharted water in one of those.

Consider then, if you will, the accomplishment of Lieutenant William Bligh, who, after the mutiny on Bounty, brought 20 men some 3800 hundred miles in the ship's launch, an open boat 22 feet in length. He has to be one of the, if not the greatest sailor of all time. They subsisted, when nothing else was available (and nothing usually was), on one musket ball and one pistol ball's weight of salt pork, and three musket ball's weight of bread each day. It was truly an unparalleled feat. He was magnificent in crisis; in smooth waters, he was a disaster.

Right, setanta. I completely forgot about Bligh. Over the course of a lifetime I went from despising him to a grudging admiration.

I greatly emjoyed the Nordhoff/Hall triology when i was a boy--i should get them from the library and enjoy them all ove again. The book Bount on which the recent (1980's) movie with Anthony Hopkins and Mel Gibson was based, is also a good read, well researched, and about one tenth the length of the Mutiy on the Bounty triology--but not nearly so entertaining.

I too read the trilogy. One of the best reads of my life. I should get Bounty and reacquaint myself with these people. I have noted that the residents of Pitcairn's Island have never had substantial lives, the sort one would envy.

Big child sex abuse scandal there, a few years back, as well, EB. Once, when looking into the December, 1940, National Geographic, i read about Pitcairn's Island "today," and got a distinct sense of being glad i had been born when and where i was.

I started a thread about the sex abuse thing. Not may people interested. But there's one island paradise that never got off the ground.

I'd like to think that he was the product of a class of super-sailors (if you will), but foremost I would have to place Cook, a pioneer and a humanitarian. Bligh ended up as a Rear-Admiral, not an inconsiderable rank - but Cook opened up the world.

My vote for free-style boatsmanship has gotta be Shackelton. Redo Blighs same journey in the Antarctic in blowing seas and temperatures so cold that the frost needed constant chipping lest the dinghey sink.
An unsung master seaman, then at the end, he leads his men across a frozen island the size of Connecticut to get help, and not a man dies.

I believe that Bligh retired as Post Admiral, although that's not important. I would point out that Bligh was Cook's sailing master, and when the Hawaiians caved in Cook's skull, it was Bligh who brought the expedition safely home. For which he received a promotion from activity duty to half-pay--no increase in rank, just a quick boot out into the cold. When he was given the commission for the breadfruit expedition, Bounty was assigned no other officers other than Bligh and no Marines. They rather set him up for a fall. By the standards of the day, Bligh was actually a very enlightened and benign officer. Compare him to Captain Edwards of Pandora, who brought the midshipmen back from Otahietie, with the special blockhouse on the deck, "Pandora's Box," in which the midshipmen would have drownt had one of the able seamen not freed them--when Edwards, no sailor at all, ran them aground on the Barrier Reef. I don't have to tell you about Bligh and Rum Corps, i'm sure. He was such an odd individual, magnificent in misfortune, a disaster in good times.

Can't believe I forgot this one:

The Pogues
Navigator

The canals and the bridges, the embankments and cuts,
They blasted and dug with their sweat and their guts
They never drank water but whiskey by pints
And the shanty towns rang with their songs and their fights.

Navigator, navigator rise up and be strong
The morning is here and there's work to be done.
Take your pick and your shovel and the bold dynamite
For to shift a few tons of this earthly delight
Yes to shift a few tons of this earthly delight.

They died in their hundreds with no sign to mark where
Save the brass in the pocket of the entrepreneur.
By landslide and rockblast they got buried so deep
That in death if not life they'll have peace while they sleep.

Navigator, navigator rise up and be strong
The morning is here and there's work to be done.
Take your pick and your shovel and the bold dynamite
For to shift a few tons of this earthly delight
Yes to shift a few tons of this earthly delight.

Their mark on this land is still seen and still laid
The way for a commerce where vast fortunes were made
The supply of an empire where the sun never set
Which is now deep in darkness, but the railway's there yet.

Navigator, navigator rise up and be strong
The morning is here and there's work to be done.
Take your pick and your shovel and the bold dynamite
For to shift a few tons of this earthly delight
Yes to shift a few tons of this earthly delight.

im back wit an abundance of Christmas spirit. Although its not exactly a sea shanty .

Sea Shanties
I really enjoyed the sea shantie thread and wanted to add that I discovered Nordhof & Hall through their WWl flying book, "Falcons Of France"

More of a ballad than a shanty, but a great sea tune:

The Fisherman's Song
Andy M. Stewart

By the storm torn shoreline
A woman is standing,
The spray strung like jewels in her hair.
And the sea tore the rocks
Near that desolate landing,
As though it had known she stood there.

For she has come down
To condemn that wild ocean
For the murderous loss of her man.
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down
With all hands.

Oh and white were the wave caps
And wild was their parting.
So fierce is the warring of love.
But she prayed to the gods,
Both of men and of sailors,
Not to cast their cruel nets
o'er her love.

For she has come down
To condemn that wild ocean
For the murderous loss of her man.
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down
With all hands.

There's a school on the hilltop
Where the sons of dead fathers
Are led toward tempests and gales.
Where their God-given wings
Are clipped close to their bodies,
And their eyes are bound round
With ship's sails.

What force leads a man
To a life filled with danger
High on seas or a mile underground?
It's when need is his master
And poverty's no stranger,
And there's no other work to be found.

For she has come down
To condemn that wild ocean
For the murderous loss of her man.
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down
With all hands.
© Andy M. Stewart

Now a proper shanty sung wonderfully by the late great Stan Rogers:

Rollin' Down to Old Maui

It's a damn tough life, full of toil and strife, we whalermen undergo,
And we won't give a damn when the gales are done how hard the winds did blow,
For we're homeward bound from the Arctic grounds with a good ship taught and free,
And we won't give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls from old Maui.

CHORUS:

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui,
We're homeward bound from the Arctic grounds, rolling down to old Maui.

Once more we sail with the northerly gales through the ice and
wind and rain, Them coconut fronds, them tropical shores, we soon shall see again;
Six hellish months we've passed away on the cold Kamchatka sea,
But now we're bound from the Arctic grounds, rolling down to old Maui.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui,
We're homeward bound from the Arctic grounds, rolling down to old Maui.

Once more we sail with the Northerly gales, towards our island home,
Our whaling done, our mainmast sprung, and we ain't got far to roam;
Our stuns'l's bones is carried away, what care we for that sound,
A living gale is after us, thank God we're homeward bound.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui,
We're homeward bound from the Arctic grounds, rolling down to old Maui.

How soft the breeze through the island trees, now the ice is far astern,
Them native maids, them tropical glades, is awaiting our return;
Even now their big brown eyes look out, hoping some fine day to see,
Our baggy sails, running 'fore the gales, rolling down to old Maui.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui,
We're homeward bound from the Arctic grounds, rolling down to old Maui.

The Irish Rover
Traditional


On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her.
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover.

We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides,
We had four million barrels of bones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for his set
He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance
And he sailed in the Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost it's way in a fog.
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover

Greenland Whale Fisheries
Traditional

In eighteen hundred and forty-six
On March the eighteenth day
We hoisted our colors to the top of the mast
And for Greenland sailed away, brave boys
And for Greenland sailed away

The lookout in the crosstrees stood
With spyglass in his hand
There's a whale, there's a whale
And a whalefish he cried
And she blows at every span, brave boys
She blows at every span

The captain stood on the quarter deck
The ice was in his eye
Overhaul, overhaul! Let your gibsheets fall
And you'll put your boats to sea, brave boys
And you'll put your boats to sea

Our harpoon struck and the line played out
With a single flourish of his tail
He capsized the boat and we lost five men
And we did not catch the whale, brave boys
And we did not catch the whale

The losing of those five jolly men
It grieved the captain sore
But the losing of that fine whalefish
Now it grieved him ten times more, brave boys
Now it grieved him ten times more

Now Greenland is a barren land
A land that bares no green
Where there's ice and snow, and the whalefishes blow
And the daylight's seldom seen, brave boys
And the daylight's seldom seen

There's yet more to this one, but I don't remember much...the song Greenland Whale was on the long lost National Geographic Songs & Sounds of the Sea album...never found it on either ebay or amazon.


And when we catch this whale
brave boys, it's homeward we will steer
We'll make the lofty alehouses in Londontown to roar
with our drinking of fine beer
And when the money is all gone
to Greenland go for more brave boys
to Greenland go for more

Hog-Eye Man

Go fetch me down me riding cane
For I'm off to see me darlin' Jane
With a hog-eye
Railroad navie with his hog-eye
Roll ashore and a hog-eye, oh
She wants the hog-eye man

Oh, the hog-eye men are all the go
When they come to San Francisco

Now, it's who's been here since I've been gone
Well, a railroad navie with his sea boots on

Oh, Sally in the garden, picking peas
Her golden hair hanging down to her knees

Oh, sally in the garden, shelling peas
With a little hog-eye all sitting on her knees

Well, a hog ship, and a hog-eye crew
Hog-eye mate and a skipper too

All You Pretty Girls - XTC

Do something for me, boys
If I should die at sea, boys
Write a little note, boys
Set it off afloat, saying

Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Village and city girls by the quayside
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Watching and waiting by the sea

Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Quiet or witty girls by the quayside
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Watching and waiting by the sea

I think about your pale arms waving
When I see the caps upon the green
And the rocking roller-coaster ocean
Think about you every night when I'm fathoms asleep
And in my dreams
We are rocking in a similar motion

I think about the salt sea rolling
Down in pearly tears upon your cheeks
Just like the day the harbour pulled away
I think about your warm white sheets unfolding
The more I have to drink
The more that I can think to say